


Full of Promise and Potential

by neglectedtuesday



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bastards in Love, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning, Smoking, Spoilers Mag 160, The Weed Socks Stay On During Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23858149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neglectedtuesday/pseuds/neglectedtuesday
Summary: Elias, to his credit, has never actually given away his wedding ring. Engagement rings on the other hand, he has sold, pawned, bartered, traded, lost, loaned, disposed of, melted down for scrap and in one memorable instance, thrown into the sea. He keeps the wedding ring for the same reason he keeps Barnabus’ skull on the mantelpiece. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Elias is not immune to sentiment.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	Full of Promise and Potential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [steviekat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviekat/gifts).



> For my dear friends, who introduced me to this pairing and now we're all deep in the garbage can of this ship, making up ridiculous headcanons for these complete clowns. 
> 
> The first scene of this fic is inspired by Focsle's art which you can find [here](https://focsle.tumblr.com/post/190942270295). I love all of their TMA art, especially their Elias art. They capture the bastard perfectly.

If anyone were to check Elias’ diary or the company calendar, this meeting would be pencilled in as ‘ _Important - meeting with Lukas/Fairchild investors - DO NOT DISTURB_ ’, and technically this is not a lie. These meetings take place, Simon Fairchild and Peter Lukas are present, money is certainly a topic that comes up. It’s just a less professional meeting than most modern businesses would be comfortable with.

Elias pours two fingers of scotch for Peter, some obscure brand with a ship on the bottle. He’s opened the wine to let it breathe, although he’ll be the only one partaking. Simon always brings his own drinks, some sugary, neon cocktail from a rooftop bar somewhere in Asia. One he’s presumably thrown someone from prior to dropping by. Simon sucks on the obscene curly straw as he shuffles the cards, looking across the desk at Peter. Simon has taken to wearing half moon spectacles since Elias last saw him, has even bought a gold chain to prevent them falling off his face when he’s enjoying the more dangerous of his favourite activities. 

“You’re in my seat,” Elias says to Simon, using his pinky finger to cushion the crystal glass of scotch as he places it before Peter. 

“So sorry,” Simon replies. Elias knows what he’s about to do, but chooses not to play Simon’s game by showing obvious annoyance. 

“Your shoes better be clean,” Elias says, returning to the drinks cabinet. Simon snorts, hopping up onto the desk to sit cross-legged atop some of Elias’ files.

“These shoes are brand new, have yet to touch the ground.”

Elias pours himself a glass of Merlot. The portrait of Jonah Magnus on the wall above the desk watches Simon distribute the cards, watches Peter’s large hand pick up his glass. Peter locks eyes with the portrait before taking a sip. A small concession, a memory of Peter trimming his beard this morning, freely given. For now. 

This is how Elias does business with these two. Card games and bets, wagers and the promise to keep his beholding in check. Elias might even go so far as to call these little sessions fun, if anyone were to ask. Not that anyone would and he certainly wouldn’t admit it to either Simon or Peter, not just for fear of ridicule but because the only way this group can stomach being with each other is through a thin veneer of distrust, distaste and dislike. Can’t be too friendly, they do work for different bosses after all.

“That’s gin!” Simon declares, slapping his cards on the desk. 

“We’re playing poker,” Peter says.

“So we are,” Simon says, using his middle finger to push his glasses up his nose, “when did that happen?”

Peter sighs. He looks heavenward, frowning when he notes the eye designs in the crown molding. Let it not be said that Elias isn’t committed to an aesthetic. 

Elias gets to his feet, straightening the cuffs of his shirt, the golden eye cufflinks glinting in the low lighting. 

“Gertrude is on her way,” Elias says conversationally, collecting Peter’s empty glass. Peter makes a disgruntled noise, tossing his cards on the desk. 

“Is Gertrude a betting woman?” Simon asks, collecting the deck together with one hand and loosening his bowtie with the other.

“Gertrude is not playing with us,” Peter growls.

“Nor would she want to,” Elias says, bringing refreshed drinks back to the desk. 

The door opens seconds later. Gertrude silhouetted in the entryway is a formidable sight; she’s not a tall woman but she exudes such a menacing presence, that it seems like she’s looming over all of them. Her pashmina is the colour of spilt blood, which Elias assumes is to cover actual bloodstains.

“Gentlemen,” Gertrude says, shutting the door behind her. “I trust the game is going well.”

“You don’t care about the game,” Elias says, leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t, I thought I would feign politeness.” 

The edges of Peter start to blur, a low crackle of static as he plans to shift out of this plane of existence. Both Elias and Gertrude tilt their heads towards Peter. Elias has an expression of mild disappointment, Gertrude’s is far more calculating. Elias may be all-seeing but Gertrude has a way of looking straight through you, right down to the bloody, broken core of you. Gertrude has eyes like a scalpel and a mouth like a sucker punch right to the gut.

“Lukas, I want to charter the Tundra. I need you to take me North, to Sannikov land.”

“Why would I take you anywhere? I don’t like you.”

“You don’t like anyone,” Simon says, grinning broadly when Peter glares at him. 

“Oh Peter,” Gertrude says, folding her left arm across her stomach to cup her right elbow, her right hand coming up to play with the pearl necklace around her neck, “you’re not still bitter about the Silence are you?” 

Peter’s jaw sets in a hard line. He takes a sleek wooden pipe from his overcoat, a small packet of tobacco from his shirt pocket and begins to fiddle with both. Elias wrinkles his nose when loose tobacco spills onto his desk. Peter’s proclivity for old fashioned ways of smoking are somewhat charming, despite the mess. The oaky smell of tobacco has leaked into Peter’s clothes, along with the salt brine of ocean spray and the sharp ice scent of the Lonely. 

Gertrude reaches into the pocket of her skirt. 

“I’m not an unreasonable woman,” she says, tossing a metallic silver lighter at Peter. He catches it with one hand, running his thumb over the sleek surface. “I’m not opposed to a trade.” 

Peter taps his pipe against his lips. “A trade of what exactly?”

Gertrude looks at Elias as she replies, “information you might find useful, to use or not use however you wish.” 

Peter hums. He goes to light the tobacco but Elias whips forward to stay his hand. “No smoking in my archive Lukas.” 

“Since when?”

“Since always.”

Peter sighs, shaking Elias off as he gets to his feet. “Fine. Gertrude, if you’ll join me in the smoking area.”

Peter shuts the door behind them, a sly wink at Elias before he disappears from view. Elias’ top lip curls. Simon chuckles, leaning back on one hand. 

“That woman is utterly terrifying. Dread to think how she’d disrupt my ritual if I was ever inclined to attempt one. Anyway, want to play snap until Lukas gets back?”

Elias takes a long sip of his wine. “Alright, sure.”

\-----

Peter returns from Sannikov Land with one less passenger and a polaroid photo of Elias Bouchard during his college years. Elias has frosted tips, a large spliff is hanging from his lips and he’s dressed in a pastel orange crop top and denim dungarees, one side of which is undone, adding to Elias’ overall disheveled look. Elias has somewhat of a gormless expression, enhanced by the silver glitter smeared across his cheeks and lips. He looks exactly like the kind of party animal that Peter would have taken great pains to avoid. In fact, he still takes great pains to avoid, although there is something deliciously lonely about an alcoholic, club-obsessed university student, whose only friendships are thread thin with others of their kind. Elias, or more accurately his body, hasn’t smoked a bowl since becoming head of the institute. Elias doesn’t even smoke cigarettes, though Peter has noted he seems to enjoy the smell of tobacco on Peter’s clothes.

Peter props the photo up against a chipped tin mug. Agreeing to own this picture is a commitment to knowledge, to knowing Elias on a certain level. Peter deliberately takes steps to avoid knowing people and to know Elias, to know pre-Jonah Elias, not only betrays his patron, but his core being. Although, it could be argued that all the marriages are equal betrayals. He looks at his wedding ring. A simple gold band, nothing showy. It’s Elias who has the fondness for diamonds. 

Peter drums his fingers against the desk. They’re only two months into this one. It’s going about as well as it ever does. Elias makes bratty demands, Peter obliges, everyone in a thirty foot radius is suitably horrified. Elias relishes embarrassing Peter in public; a brazen hand on Peter’s knee, a subtle head tilt to whisper filth that would make a devil blush. 

The moment that Peter pulls into port, Elias will be waiting, eager to make their reunion ostentatious and unpleasant. Elias will pull Peter down to his level to kiss him, use tongue because he can and try to worm his hands under Peter’s jumper to touch skin. Elias’ hands will be cold and he’ll chuckle smugly when Peter hisses, use the opportunity to make the kiss deep and dirty. Little scoundrel that he is. 

Peter chucks the polaroid in a desk drawer, thinks about chartering a course to Brazil. He also considers the likelihood of getting caught in a terrible storm and ending up shipwrecked on an abandoned island for the rest of time. An alluring fantasy if ever there was one. 

\-----

Elias, to his credit, has never actually given away his wedding ring. Engagement rings on the other hand, he has sold, pawned, bartered, traded, lost, loaned, disposed of, melted down for scrap and in one memorable instance, thrown into the sea. He keeps the wedding ring for the same reason he keeps Barnabus’ skull on the mantelpiece. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Elias is not immune to sentiment.

Engagement rings are fair game though, as far as Elias is concerned. He demands a new one per marriage, better than the last and far more expensive. It’s not like Peter doesn’t have the money and Elias is yet to receive a Lukas family heirloom, which is his ultimate goal. He has promised not to do anything should Peter give him an antique Lukas engagement ring, but for some reason Peter doesn’t believe him. 

“You’re my priceless antique, my sweet sea anenome,” Peter mumbles in the pillow, giving all indication that now the spectacular sex is over with, he’d quite like a kip. 

“I hope you’re not implying that I’m ancient.” 

“Ancient men don’t have hips like that,” Peter grumbles. 

“Pardon?”

  
“Like a fine wine, you improve with age, my little starfish. Now be quiet so that I can go to sleep.”

Elias runs his fingertips along Peter’s side. “This conversation is far from over.” 

Peter makes a show of being asleep. Elias could do all manner of irritating things but instead chooses to wiggle under Peter’s arm to rest his head on Peter’s broad chest. Peter pulls Elias in closer, dropping a drowsy kiss on Elias’ head. In previous years Elias might have put up more of a fight but, well. Sentiment. 

Elias was going to enquire about what Peter got in exchange for taking Gertrude up north, but then Peter starts playing with Elias’ hair and Elias completely forgets what he’s about to say. 

\-----

  
The polaroid stays in the desk drawer for years and only partially because Peter forgets that it’s in there. They continue to divorce and remarry for petty reasons; though the core of it is the same. Sometimes the best way to be lonely is to be as far removed from other people as possible and sometimes it’s better to be in bed with someone knowing you will always come second to whatever scheme they’re currently focused on. What’s lonelier than unbalanced love.

Peter finds the polaroid again when everything is going well. He imagines kissing this version of Elias, how he would end up with glitter on his lips. Elias would taste like weed and cherry cola chapstick, would probably turn to putty in Peter’s hands, bowing to experience. 

Elias keeps a tube of Vaseline chapstick in his desk. It’s flavourless, but it does ensure that Elias’ lips are soft. Peter wonders if he could replace the chapstick with a flavoured version or even lip gloss without Elias noticing. Probably not. 

Peter tucks the photo into the pocket of his overcoat, and considers other methods of subterfuge. 

\-----

Elias doesn’t need to use the beholding to know that Peter is up to something. Peter has turned up in Elias’ apartment several times this week, wearing freshly laundered clothes and smelling of cologne. Elias doubts Peter is having an affair, though he finds himself amused at the thought given that Peter barely has the mental fortitude to stand being in one relationship, let alone a second, illicit one. Still, Elias is rather bored of not knowing.If he doesn’t have Peter’s full attention, Elias might be forced to do something drastic. 

When Elias gets back to his apartment building that evening, he knows that Peter is waiting inside before he’s even stepped into the lobby. The elevator seems slower than usual, Elias watches the numbers climb higher with an impatience he hasn’t felt since youth. He taps his finger on the metal support bar, watches the restless line of his shoulders from a side reflection. 

When the elevator doors open, he takes his time walking to his front door. How uncouth it would be to appear as eager as he is. He would hate to give Peter an ego. The front door swings open and Elias is met with a scent his body can’t help but react to. 

Peter is waiting for him in the living room. He’s dressed in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, the buttons of which are barely done up. He’s leaning back, one arm thrown over the back of the sofa, the other flicking ash into a crystal ashtray. He smiles lazily at Elias, bringing the rolled cigarette to his lips. Except it’s not a cigarette.

“I don’t even want to know where you bought that.”

Peter winks. “I’m a man of many secrets.”

Elias stalks over, his heeled boots clicking on the polished wood floor. Sitting down, Peter is still a huge man. Elias is barely taller than him even now. Peter looks relaxed in a way Elias has never seen before, no tension in his shoulders, no furrowed brow. Peter reaches forward, pulling Elias between the vee of his legs. 

Peter takes a long inhale on the joint, hand coming up to anchor itself on Elias’ neck. Elias lets himself be manhandled into position, the hair on his arms standing on end. Their noses brush before they’re kissing, Peter exhaling smoke into Elias’ mouth. Peter’s lips taste like cherry cola chapstick. Elias leans back, eyes fluttering open when he exhales. Peter is grinning like a man who went fishing for lobster and found lost treasure instead. 

“You bastard,” Elias growls. Peter laughs.

“Something wrong sweetheart?”

Elias plucks the joint from Peter’s loose fingers. His mouth remembers the feeling, muscle memory guiding him through the drag. Peter leans forwards, lips parted and they slot their mouths together. Elias finds himself pulled into Peter’s lap, Peter’s hand having sneakily undone Elias’s jacket and slipped beneath the waistcoat and shirt. 

“Careful, this suit was expensive.”

“I know,” Peter murmurs, his voice husky, “I paid for it.”

The jacket ends up crumpled on the floor, the waistcoat unbuttoned and the shirt rucked up. Peter tucks Elias’ tie into his back pocket for later use. Elias’ licks his lips, chasing the remains of the chapstick.

“Where did you even get cherry chapstick?”

“Claire’s Accessories, they have a whole range.”

Peter leans over Elias’ head, reaching for something on the side table. When he leans back, Elias sees the glittery lip gloss tube. He raises an eyebrow. The tube is miniscule in Peter’s hands, yet he handles it expertly. He unscrews the lid, pulling the wand out slowly. Elias tilts his head up, allowing Peter to swipe the wand along his lower lip. When Peter is done, Elias rubs his lips together, enjoying the tacky, syrup feeling. 

“Shall we take this to the bedroom?” Elias asks.

“You sure you don’t want to fuck here?”

“If you want to throw your back out, be my guest. I will be adjourning to the bedroom to be comfortable.”

“You say the most erotic things.”

“Come along Peter, if you’re lucky I’ll let you wear that absurd Captain’s hat.”

\-----

  
Elias is outraged when he finds the photograph.

“You… Gertrude…” Elias splutters, his face turning a wonderful shade of crimson as he tries to snatch the polaroid away from Peter. Peter simply holds it up even higher. 

“I like it, I’m thinking of having a copy made so I can put it inside my compass. Isn’t that romantic?”

“Divorce NOW!” 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic for friends, but if you liked it then I'm very pleased.


End file.
